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by Frank Shortt
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A shaggy beast slinks across a Montana prairie. His prey is anything that offers sustenance.
Somewhere around dusk of evening, He will have his say. His family must have nourishment.
Approaching a small herd of sheep, He chooses the weakest looking member of the cote. A large dog had been posted deflecting his efforts.
He turns to the lesser animals to satisfy his hunger that night as there are no larger animals around.
His mate, almost as vicious as he, stands to the side to assist him should he need help. If he makes a kill, she will only approach
the carcass after his appetite is satisfied. A grim look clouds her pate. She thinks of her hungry cubs in their den.
After one blood feast among a less attentive herd of young cattle, the hunter has become the hunted. Too many young calves are missing.
Often calves were found, not fully eaten, as though only killed for the joy of killing. These become food for vultures.
“We must do something about all these marauding wolves!” The rancher told his neighbor.
They soon launch a ‘wolf drive’ in association with all the other ranchers around. This is done by placing each mounted riders several
feet apart and crossing the prairie in a line, each rancher watching attentively for any movement within the scope of his vision.
The hapless lobo is thereby eradicated if he happens to be in the line of fire. These men are sharpshooters who have been trained
by the best.
Now we see the mangled bodies of the once free-running hunters. No longer
will they seek the life sustaining prey. No more will they gather with the pack to howl away the night.
Hungry cubs will perish in the den, waiting for the teats that meant comfort and nourishment. After several days of waiting, coyotes
feast upon the remaining carcasses. Mice and rats will gnaw the bones getting to the marrow inside.
Is civilization good for all creation? Are the movements of man so much more important than all the lesser creatures? Who is the hunter?
Who is the hunted?